Management Skills (7 page)

“Look at yourself,” he said.

Her body was covered in a thick layer of blue wax. Tiny candles were embedded in the wax base. The candles were lit and arranged in a pattern. They circled her breasts, spoked her nipples and draped her hips like a flaming G-string.

“You’re a human candle.” He was pleased and proud.

“I am beautiful, Sir,” she whispered.

The moment was elevating. Her submission allowed him to transform her into something extraordinary. She basked in her otherworldly splendor. Eventually he’d blow out the candles and remove the wax. She’d turn back into a regular woman again, one he loved dearly.

The glorious process was a metaphor for the best in D/s relationships. That knowledge filled her with profound pleasure.

He blew out the mini candles and pulled them out of the wax. He gave her sips of orange juice through a straw, alternating with kisses. He wore nothing but black leather gloves. Sometime during the process he’d taken off his clothing. She would have loved to get a better look at his magnificent naked body, but any movement would have cracked the wax.

He gave her another kiss. “And now I want access to another hole.”

Her heart thudded in anticipation. Every nerve ending came alive.

He brought out a knife. The tool was dramatic and shiny. But even in the dim light of the dungeon, she could see the blade was dull, like a big butter knife.

He sliced the blade down her lower belly, cutting the wax. He lifted off chunks of wax. The sensation was marvelous, a confluence of sucking, pinching and tickling. He peeled off the wax from her private area.

He laid the flat of the blade against her clit, now super sensitive because of the wax play.

“Please don’t make me hurt, Sir!”

He teased her by pressing harder. “This hurts?”

Scorching waves surged through her lady parts. “No. Yes. No!”

She dared not thrash. She desperately wanted to preserve her wax encasement as long as possible. But she was so close to orgasm.

“Please,” she begged, torn between maintaining her bondage and reaching fulfillment.

He put his lips to her clit and hummed. The vibration nearly drove her out of her mind. Again and again he brought her to the threshold, only to pull back and prolong her torment.

She cried out, still struggling to keep the wax intact.

“You are so wet,” he said. “You want to come.”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“But you won’t,” he said, his breath hot on her. “Not until I permit it.” He resumed torturing her swollen ridge with his tongue, even his teeth, backing off in time to keep her orgasm at bay.

He kept her on the brink. For minutes? For hours? Days? An eternity? She didn’t know. Pleasure became pain. Pain became pleasure.

Finally, when she was about to pass out, he stopped his erotic assault. He removed more wax. She sighed long and deep, certain he’d soon give her the release she deserved.

But he wasn’t done teasing.

He carved designs on her wax shell with his knife. Inserting the blade under the edges, he peeled off big chunks. Icy fire exploded in her core the whole time. Finally she was free.

Admiring her exposed body, he trailed a gloved finger over her breasts. Her skin was super sensitive. She flinched.

“Your skin is flushed,” he said, his purple eyes nearly black. “Like when you come. But you haven’t climaxed, have you?”

She wasn’t sure. Maybe a little orgasm had snuck in there during his teasing denial. But she felt so tight and tense and heavy, she didn’t think so.

“Have you?” he asked again.

The answer was so important to him. “I don’t know, Sir.”

He removed his leather gloves and gently rubbed her sensitive skin with sweet-smelling baby powder. She savored his wonderful pampering. His attentions also heightened her desperate desire.

When she was all white and smooth, he sheathed himself. He scooped her off the cloth-covered rack and laid her in the pile of fragrant straw. Growling, he pressed her into the hay. He rode her relentlessly, frenzied and savage. Her long deprivation and teasing coalesced into one gigantic, never-ending climax.

Allie and Grant arranged for another weekend together to celebrate their joint clean bills of health. They’d just both gotten themselves tested for STDs as a measure of their commitment. Now, with Allie on birth control, they planned to enjoy natural, unsheathed sex.

She had a special surprise for him. The Silver costume was packed in her purse. The shredded, highly erotic one. She looked forward to giving him a private Silver dance.

He picked her up at her apartment. Allie wore a low-cut, short little number in aqua. He was all in black, looking moody and downtown. And very sexy.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said, giving her a body-blistering look.

“So do you. Where are we going?”

“To my coastside cottage.”

She was delighted to finally see his weekend house. He called it a cottage. How utterly charming and rustic.

He helped her into a muscular, raw-looking red car. The tight dress made it hard to get in. But she managed to do it without exposing too many internal organs. She gazed around the interior of the car—a cocky homage to testosterone. Did the car reflect his frame of mind? If it did, she was in for an outstanding weekend.

He got in next to her and drove off. She enjoyed being confined in a car with him. Heat shot through her body. She liked the way his strong fingers worked the wheel. Her desire soared. How far away
was
his weekend getaway?

He asked her what he should get Karen and Stefan as a wedding gift. They tossed around ideas. His eagerness to make his baby sister happy captivated her.

He drove faster. He wanted to get her home. His urgency spurred her own. She wanted him now. But he’d never stop in some dark parking lot and take her. No, the slow teasing, the denial, was the most important part of his wicked methodology.

Staring at the bright dash gauges, she was overwhelmed by memories of his scalding touch, his surging vitality. She closed her eyes, listening to the deep thrum of the engine, hoping to regain calm. No go. Her lust was acute.

Did he feel the same way? She wasn’t sure. It was too dark in the car to see his expression.

After a short drive on 280 through the foothills, he headed over the Santa Cruz Mountains. His powerful car roared up the narrow, winding road. She gazed at the wild beauty of brush-choked canyons, the roadside juniper, dill weed and eucalyptus, as they sped past.

They reached the coast highway and stopped at a turnout to gaze at the dark ocean to the west. She opened the window partway. Breathing in deeply, she savored the scent of the sea and sea life.

“Do you know what orgasm control is?” he asked.

His question took her by surprise. They occasionally had intellectual discussions about BDSM practices, but it was always after sex. Never before. She’d heard of orgasm control. Years ago, she met a woman who’d been trained to climax to her Master’s command. Everything was fine—until they broke up. The woman couldn’t orgasm by physical stimulation. She had to cheat, masturbating to one of her ex-Master’s voicemails. Not a great situation.

“Sir?” she asked.

“A woman can climax again and again during a sexual encounter. A man only once. Orgasm control provides a way to even the playing field between the sexes. A method to overcome nature.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Grant headed back onto the highway. Their brief conversation left her feeling uneasy. She didn’t think of sex as a contest between man and woman. Did Grant?

He turned onto a dirt road nearly hidden by a large grove of eucalyptus. They sped along through the trees and emerged from the little forest. An ultramodern stucco structure stood in the distance, lit up by landscape lights. Perched on a rocky promontory, the house looked like a sandcastle, with emphasis on the castle. The “cottage” was huge.

“
That’s
your cottage?” she asked.

“It’s a lot smaller than it looks.”

She snorted. He chuckled.

The dirt road wound through acres of tall, dry grasses to end in a circular drive. He parked beneath a broad portico and helped her out of the car. They walked up imposing concrete stairs. His hand rested in the small of her back, guiding her up. He opened the door to his cottage using a high-tech fingerprint key.

“Welcome,” he said warmly.

They walked in. The entry was cavernous, softly lit by wall sconces. She gazed about his private sanctum, happy to be there. Rust-colored stone pavers, laid out in intricate designs, formed the floor. Gigantic ceiling to floor windows offered a three-sided view of the ocean.

The furniture in the main room was understated and modern. Framed snapshots and formal photos crowded the sofa table.

He offered her a drink. She declined.

“Make yourself at home, Allie,” he said, heading toward a sleek white bar. “I’ll make myself a drink. Then we can talk.”

She drifted over to the sofa table. His family. They were an attractive, active bunch. She strolled over to the windows. Curiosity drew her outside to a gigantic patio. Made of tan-colored concrete, the terrace stretched across most of the back of the house. The patio even had a narrow swimming pool and an outdoor shower stall. Walking over to the edge of the terrace, she peered down. The ocean and a rocky beach, illuminated by the house lights, lay below. She loved the soothing sound of surf, the smell of sea.

She sauntered back to the pool. Dropping her purse, she took off her sandals and dipped her toes in the water. The water was warm, kicking off a fragrance of lavender. Her apartment pool was cold and stank of chlorine. The rich really
did
live different.

She wriggled out of her tight dress and her underwear. Hopping into the pool, she groaned with pleasure. Floating on her back, she admired the way her belly ring glinted yellow under the patio lights. The sound of surging waves from the nearby ocean enveloped her.

“What are you doing?” Grant stood at the edge of the pool, drink in hand. His gaze strafed her bare skin with carnal flame. His lips were pressed together in annoyance.

Was he angry or hot? Or both? The possibility of her owner being out of control with desire excited her.

She seductively stretched her floating body. “I made myself at home, Sir.”

He continued to look at her as though he was trying to decide whether to jump her bones or kill her. She voted for the first option. It was high time they give their unencumbered STD-free bodies a test drive. Preferably without his teasing foreplay.

“Come join me,” she said.

He stooped down at the edge of the pool. “Out, Mine,” he said, his gentle voice at odds with his threatening expression.

It wasn’t her place to resist him, to question him, to entice him. Because she wanted to be the very best submissive she could, it was her place to obey. “Yes, Sir.”

She reached for the edge of the pool. He stood up, stepping back. As she pulled out of the water, his splendid eyes passed over her bare, wet flesh; his jaw clenched tight. A huge erection strained against the fabric of his black slacks. There was at least one part of him that didn’t want to talk.

He handed her a towel. “Where is your self-discipline, woman?”

She felt like she’d just been slapped. Why couldn’t he ever just give in to his urges and take her hard and fast—and
now?
Why did sex with him have to be so crushingly complicated?

Biting her lower lip, she wrapped the towel around her nude body.

“Better,” he said. “Now we can talk.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’d like to continue our conversation about orgasm control.”

“Okay.”

“Orgasm control is an extension of chastity. A woman doesn’t come until her man permits it. It’s the ultimate control.”

“It sounds like denial,” she said.

“No,” he said, delicately stroking her collar with his forefinger, reminding her she was owned. “It’s not denial. It’s fine-tuning. With the correct training, a woman can climax on command. It won’t even take a touch.”

“Like Pavlov’s dog? Salivating at the sound of a bell?”

“Thoroughly mastering your sexual response appeals to me on many levels, Mine,” he said. “There is nothing more intimate or profound than the willing surrender of your orgasmic nature.”

She recalled his teasing, magnified to painfully oppressive levels. “Maybe in theory, Sir.”

“It’s not an abstraction,” he said, his deep-set eyes broiling with heat. “Orgasm control will be the next step in your development.”

She was appalled. “To train me to have only one orgasm? To even the playing field between us? I can’t believe you buy that Vault fantasy. The war between the sexes is bullshit, Grant.” He was asking for too much from her. “I won’t let you do that to me.”

It was time for them to renegotiate their relationship. Show him what she needed.

She dropped the towel and it puddled to the floor by her feet. Slipping past Grant and his dark purple glower of confusion, she strode into the outdoor shower. The gigantic, glass-enclosed space had a profusion of jets coming out at every angle. She turned on the water. It took a while, but she finally got the right temperature and the right jets. He stood outside the shower, watching her, his arms crossed, amused by her awkward efforts.

He had a big stripe of sadist in him.

She spied a collection of shower gels and shampoos in a recess in the glass. She opened one of them and sniffed. It smelled like old, overripe roses. The disgusting stuff probably belonged to one of the other women he’d fucked while he kept her high and dry.

“Stinks.” She screwed the cap back on. She tossed the bottle out of the shower, aiming for a trashcan. She missed. The bottle went tumbling over the concrete until it rolled to a stop near the pool.

Her dramatic demonstration was not going smoothly.

The next shower gel she opened smelled good. Purple and shimmery, it smelled like lilacs, one of her favorite flowers. Pouring the rich purple liquid into her hands, she lathered up. Standing under the gentle spray, she delicately massaged the suds over her wet breasts.

Control of her own body felt good. She continued to stroke until her nipples hardened. Fire spread down from her breasts to her pelvis. She slipped a glance at him. He merely looked alert, as if he was wondering what she’d do next.

Arching her back, she rinsed off her breasts under the spray. She enjoyed watching the droplets jump off her hard, swollen nipples. A quick look told her Grant liked it too. His heated gaze devoured her.

She dripped more of the smooth gel onto her hands, slowly, for effect, never taking her eyes off him. She lathered the under curve of her breasts, her stomach. She paid special attention to the belly ring. The soapy frolic sizzled her senses; it had to be driving him crazy.

“This is what I need,” she said, sliding her hands down her embellished stomach. She now lathered the juncture of her thighs.

He made a low, indistinct noise in the back of his throat.

“No orgasm control for me,” she continued, smoothing the bubbles gently over her clit. She paused to take in the aroma of lilacs. “One climax isn’t enough. I want all of them. I can barely stand your teasing as it is. It’s punishing. I want more sex. Not less. I want more orgasms, not less. If you won’t give them to me, I’ll just get them myself.”

As the water sprayed over her shoulders, she continued to stroke her swollen nubbin, back and forth, back and forth. The tremors of a building climax rippled through her.

His expression turned grim.

Thrilling to the sudsy pressure of her fingers on her clit, she quickened her pace. She’d soon bring herself to full frenzy. She didn’t need him.

He reached her in two strides.

Seizing her by her upper arms, he said, “
Over.
”

He was using her safeword. Admitting defeat. Surrendering to her. He was giving in because he valued her and their relationship more than his own ego.

Pushing her shoulders up against the glass wall, he leaned into her, his eyes flashing. His fingers pressed into her flesh, hard and unyielding. She inhaled sharply, her body tense, joyously aware of his strength.

“I’m going to finish what you started.” His voice was so low it was almost menacing.

The water still spraying them both, he kissed her mouth, voracious. His stubble scraped her skin. She moaned, her pelvis so heavy she thought her uterus would drag her down clean through the shower floor.

He pulled away. His dark hair was slicked back. His black shirt was completely wet, plastered to his skin, showing every contoured, solid inch of his chest. His shoes were soaked.

She tugged at his clothing. “Off! Get them off!”

He helped her peel off his shirt, his pants. Water sprayed down on his broad shoulders. His erection was thick and strong.

Snagging her wrists, he lifted her hands above her head, guiding them to grab a protruding showerhead. Warm water streamed down her arms, down her breasts in rivulets. Her sex sizzled.

“Hang on to the showerhead,” he said. Grasping her ass, he pulled her feet off the shower floor. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She obeyed him. With sweet, slow finesse, he eased himself into her scalding hot channel. She didn’t think they could fit together like that. Holding her arms taut, dangling off the showerhead, she rhythmically contracted her inner muscles around him.

Her vagina told him what she couldn’t.
I need you inside me.

He stroked. After emitting a long moan, she closed her eyes and let the sensations saturate her. She wanted it to last forever. He pumped into her, ruthless, faster and faster, his restraint in tatters. Demand surged from his fingertips into her buttocks. She was swept up in a wave of animal urgency. Her clit became an electrical resistor, red-hot and smoking. An orgasm rippled through her. Then another. She screamed; she was on fire. Still hanging on to the showerhead for dear life, she gyrated and twisted, her body overtaken by frenzied convulsions. With one last surge, he emptied himself into her.

She let go of the showerhead. They collapsed gently to the shower floor, the warm spray falling over their joined bodies.

Renegotiation had begun.